


Booze is the Mindkiller

by Not_You



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Attempted Rape, BAMF Phil Coulson, Drunkenness, M/M, Past Abuse, vulnerable!Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt for someone taking advantage of Phil being a lightweight and a very emotionally vulnerable drunk.</p><p>Phil never drinks in public.  An asshole ex slips him booze at an event and tries to take advantage of him, underestimating the amount of ass he kicks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Booze is the Mindkiller

Clint is honored to be trusted with drunk Phil. No bullshit, honored. Because if anyone wants proof of the evils of Demon Alcohol, they can just look at fearless, unflappable, competent and in control Agent Coulson under its influence. He'll kiss Natasha and giggle about finally getting somewhere with a hot lesbian, and actually crawl into Fury's lap and cuddle him and ask for a story in all seriousness. It's funniest when Fury actually gives in, but the point is that Phil doesn't get drunk that often. None of them do, too much vulnerability involved, but Phil turns into his goddamn child/idiot/animal self, and as such never even gets tipsy in public. He had stood there in the back at Fury's great-niece's wedding reception, conspicuous as hell despite all his training due to being one of the few white faces in the crowd and definitely the only completely sober person in the entire building. The really ridiculous thing is that Phil had actually had a good time, and Clint smiles at the memory.

Tonight they're at one of those huge-ass charity galas that the Avengers have to go to these days, and alas, it's not Clint's turn to get drunk. All of them except Phil will have one or two at these things, but Natasha has been having a rough week and as such it is her turn to actually get drunk. Right now she's leaning on Fury and honestly _giggling_ , radiant in a gold-colored gown. Clint grins, and turns to find Phil, because he's not going to want to miss this.

Phil feels weird. He shouldn't feel weird, because he hasn't been drinking, but he's kind of dizzy and it's too hot in here and he really wishes Nick or Clint or Natasha was here because now he can't find his way. And he shouldn't be lost, it's just one room and nowhere to get lost in, but he is and it makes him want to cry and that doesn't make any sense because Phil doesn't cry. Okay, he does, but he reserves it for very special occasions which do not include being lost in a ballroom. And then there's a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he whips around, nearly bursting into tears when it isn't Clint.

"Are you all right?"

"...Michael?" And it is, and it's been years since that broad chest actually meant safety, but he leans into it just the same. Somewhere in the back of his mind is the vague awareness that this is a bad idea, but he's so dizzy and Michael is so solid that it seems like the thing to do.

"Surprised to see me?"

"Yeah." He nuzzles a little, because it's good to have something to lean on.

"You shouldn't be." And now he's got an arm around Phil and is moving him away somewhere. He guess that's okay, since he was lost, but he wants to go wherever Clint is, and he's starting to remember. "You know I'll always be there for you when your friends leave you behind." They're moving faster now, and suddenly they're somewhere else, a luxurious and deserted bathroom. Phil's stomach starts to knot up.

"...Michael?"

"I'm here to take care of you, since they won't." He wets a paper towel and wipes Phil's face with it, and that does feel nice. He can't help a little sigh, and leans into it. Michael laughs softly. "You always were easy, Phil."

It's like a punch to the gut, how suddenly Phil is somewhere else in space and time. Michael is still there, though, still calling him easy and loose and weak, and the good shame of being a lover's perfect little whore starts to turn to something else, something dark and corrosive. Sober Phil finally comes through, screaming at the top of his lungs that they fucking left Michael in the first place because of escalating emotional abuse and repeated attempts to socially isolate them, remember?

"Stop it." It's too bad he's somehow fucking drunk, because it comes out as more of a plaintive whine than a command.

"You don't mean that." He kisses Phil deep and slow, and Phil can't help but whine and melt and wonder if Michael is right after all. And then one big hand is squeezing his cock through his pants, and Phil's training takes over. He really doesn't enjoy public sex, and it was always something Michael had insisted on and tried to guilt him into. The door opens just as Phil gets a good grip on the counter with both hands, shoving Michael away with his knee and then snapping both feet up and kicking him in the chest hard enough to knock him back until he hits the far wall.

"Phil?"

"Clint!" And he hates how hysterical he sounds, but there's no helping it as it he flings himself into Clint's arms. "I'm drunk and I don't wanna be drunk and I don't know how it happened and I wanna go home," he whimpers into Clint's chest.

"Baby..." His voice is inexpressibly tender, and he pulls Phil close, glaring over his shoulder at Michael, who is just starting to pick himself up, wheezing in silence. Still holding on with one arm, he pulls out his phone with the other hand. "Hey, Nick? Yeah. We're up here in the mezzanine level men's room with the piece of shit that spiked Phil's drink. Thanks." He hangs up and rubs Phil's back until security arrives to drag Michael out. He's still trying to catch his breath too desperately to say anything snide on his way out.

"'Msorry," Phil whimpers.

"What for?" Clint kisses his cheek.

"Let him kiss me."

"Honey, he drugged you. It's okay. I'd never blame you for that."

"Is he all right?" Natasha sounds disconcertingly sober, and Fury's eye is blazing with hatred and menace.

"Yeah, he's okay. Mule-kicked the son of a bitch in the chest, it was awesome."

Natasha beams, and gloms onto them, hugging Phil from behind. "Good. C'mon, Phil, let's get you home."

"Yeah." 

They lead Phil out like a small child, Clint holding his right hand, Natasha his left. Fury stalks along behind them, growling into his phone in a way that promises appropriately dire consequences. Tony is dressing down security and Steve is interrogating the bartenders while Bruce leads Thor in breathing exercises so the lights will stop flickering. Clint has to assure each of them in turn that Phil is all right and that he's taking him home.

Phil actually falls asleep in the car, and wakes up slung over Clint's back. He coos and nuzzles him, and Clint chuckles. "Back with me, sweetheart?"

"Mmhm." Phil is awake again, but still pretty useless. He manages to sit up and drink a glass of water and to toddle a few steps, but otherwise just passively lets Clint undress him and tuck him into bed. That done, he crawls in beside Phil and gathers him close, holding him protectively. "Love you," Phil whispers.

"Love you too, baby. And you know I'll keep you safe, right?"

"Yeah." He cuddles closer still, and knows that every word Clint says is true.


End file.
